


American Gods: Snapshots

by peppermintquartz



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Gen, also this is a Bryan-approved idea, it shines brighter than the sun, the Sinn ship is the purest thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-10 08:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11123910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: Little filler ficlets from the TV adaptation of American Gods. Will add when inspired.





	1. Salim and the Sweater

Salim hadn’t meant to get too attached to it. It was overlarge for his slighter frame, it smelled of too much stale air and old air freshener, and it was fraying in one spot at the hem.

But it was the one thing that also smelled of the Jinn. Just the faintest hint of heat, and sand, and something _other_.

When he was alone - and he was alone, for now - Salim could feel the Jinn’s hands on him. The restrained power beneath rough skin. He remembered the confidence with which the Jinn had moved, in his claiming and his giving.

Salim remembered the rasp of his beard over the Jinn’s unmarked skin and the feel of plush lips against his own. He remembered the way his shaking palms had been warmed by the banked fires beneath thick muscle, the way he had been swept away by the Jinn’s presence. How they had twined together. 

It was the first time Salim had been himself, utterly and fearlessly.

The sweater reminded Salim of all that. He slept with it wrapped about a pillow, and rested his bearded cheek against it. He thanked all that was divine that he had been given this gift of a new life, and he prayed that he would find the Jinn again. 

Where Salim had been a wisp of grass blowing this way and that in the past, the new Salim had direction and purpose. He knew he had to find the Jinn once more. What he would do after, he did not know nor care. 

It would likely be a long search, but he knew that God would provide. God had already provided him with a new life; what other miracles would he perform, if Salim trusted in his power? He clung to the sweater, the physical reminder that he was once powerfully desired, that he was desirable, that he was not wrong in himself.

And when he found the Jinn, he hoped that a miracle of love would be waiting for him.


	2. Audrey's Scrapbooking

It started on a whim, but it grew into a form of meditation. It was calming. Cutting shapes out of colorful papers, sorting through photos, sticking pretty stickers, writing down snippets of Instagram-type phrases... It was mind-numbing, with pretty things. Scrapbooking kept her sane, filled her with a sense of something that was a facsimile of contentment.

Nowadays, Audrey Burton didn't ask for much. She used to ask for a lot.

When she was small, she'd asked for a pony every night, until her parents got her a puppy, which she then named Snowbell.

She'd asked to be a princess-fairy-astronaut, and then a ballerina, and then a singer, and then a teacher, and then, eventually, a job that she didn't actively hate.

She had asked for a prince to appear in her life. Then, she'd asked for Gordon McKenzie to notice her. Then she'd asked for a rich man to love her.

Nowadays, she just wanted Robbie to either look at her the way Shadow looked at Laura, or to divorce her so she could have a whole new life again. She never said that. She loved Robbie, but it was a love removed, a love that existed behind a shower curtain or a foggy glass window. It was there, not here; she didn't want to leave him, but she wondered – sometimes without guilt, sometimes with – if it'd be better for them both if he wanted to leave her. If he did leave her.

It was disloyal of her to think so, but thoughts were not things to be put in boxes. They were alive and would burst free of any cage she put them in. So she thought them, the ideas and words and concepts flitting through her mind when she fills the pages of her scrapbooks. These thoughts leeched color from her world.

And so, every day, she curated her experiences into pages of color and patterns and trite lies that scream her one request silently, _I wish it had been so._

 


End file.
